Home
by undertoad
Summary: AU.  Ray/Neela fic set at the end of Season 12.  One shot.


Title: Home

Author: Undertoad

Rating: PG?

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters.

Spoilers: All Season 12 is fair game!

Content Warning: I actually liked Gallant. So, if you are looking for a Gallant bashing fic, look elsewhere. But _this is a Reela fic_!

Summary: You know what they say about old habits…

She liked schedules. If she could she would schedule each day down to the minute. It was a habit that she had refined in medical school. But when she had lived with Ray that had gone out the window.

At first it had been infuriating to live with someone that was such the opposite of herself. He left things to chance. But eventually they had found together a comfortable in-between that suited them both.

She remembered that Ray had told her once that John Lennon had said that _life is what happens when you are busy making other plans_. When she had first heard it she hadn't really given it much thought. On the day of her shotgun wedding to Michael she had recalled it right before the ceremony and she couldn't help but find some truth in it at that very moment.

But it was in his death that Michael had finally gotten her to understand these words.

She was on leave from work for an undefined amount of time. They had told her to come back when she was ready. And for the life of her she couldn't comprehend what to do with all this time. What was she expected to do? How did one schedule a time of the day to cry or to recall memories? How much time passed would be _enough_ for her to be ready to come back to work? Was their a certain amount of time that would pass before the hole in her heart, that she had reserved for him, would heal itself?

At work she had been on a schedule. With Michael she had been on a schedule. But now, with a seemingly limitless amount of time ahead of her, _time to grieve, to regroup, to "become ready"_, what was she to do with herself?

Time now existed to her in heartbeats. And right now she felt them all and knew that with each passing beat she was one step closer to her own death. And right now she didn't know exactly how she felt about that.

She didn't know what happened when a person died. Her faith taught one idea. Michael's faith had taught him another. She wasn't a very religious person. But at that moment she wished she knew the answer. She wanted to believe that Michael was _in a better place_, as people liked to say when they spoke of death.

She stared down at the cold wet earth where her husband was and couldn't believe that wherever he was could be a better place.

Due to her job as a doctor she had often witnessed death. She had removed herself from it. You had to or it was hard to stay sane with a job like hers.

And all she _knew_ presently was that Michael's body lay under the cold wet earth. Even in death, in that box, did he feel it? Did he feel the dirt and the slight sprinkling of rain?

A bit of the dirt still clung to her hands and was worked under her nails. _She felt it._

She closed her eyes. She heard Pratt mumble something about the hospital. And in her minds' eye she traveled back to that rooftop with Ray.

He had been close to her. He had been trying to help. But she hadn't been able to look at him. It would have been easy to let him take her in his arms. It would have felt right to let him hold her. As right as it felt to sit down with him at night and share a beer and watch television together. _To want to have him there was wrong. Because it wasn't just comfort she sought from Ray._

He had been standing too close to her. He had been too close to focus on. Being near him made her feel blurry. All she knew was that she had meant to only take a step back but the feet underneath her had walked her as far away from him as she could get.

Looking into his eyes then would have reminded her of all the times she had pretended to be asleep while listening to his soft movements in the room beside hers. She had played a game with herself with closed eyes where she imagined just what he was doing in the next room, what he was wearing, how the light and shadows danced across his features. She would picture him sitting on his couch with his boots propped up on the table they had bought together. And she would smile at the knowledge that this was where she lived,_ with him_, as she drifted off to sleep.

When she had lived with Ray she had longed for the moments that it was just the two of them. And not just in the sense of time without his band mates or the revolving door of his conquests; the times when they didn't speak of work or their troubles with other people but when they were truly alone with one another.

In times like these he might cook for her and then give her a lesson on his guitar. It was something they had started doing after she had been found mindlessly plucking at his guitar's strings. Ray had told her once that for him his music was an outlet. She hadn't quite understood and he explained to her that _she couldn't rock out on a viola_. And then he had tried and she had laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes. She did not remember a time before then when things had been so funny and she had felt so safe.

But she had left their safe place to sit alone in Abby's apartment and freeze. She had lived there before but this time she couldn't get to a place where it felt like home. She had figured that when Michael returned and they made a home for themselves that the feeling would return. And sometimes when she spoke to him on the phone it felt as though she was within arms reach of it. But now there was no home with Michael in her future. Abby's place felt colder now.

_I wish I didn't feel how I feel. _

_You're my best friend._

She was reminded of a time when she had stumbled across the lyrics to a song that Ray had written. In the dimly lit clubs where she had heard him play a few times it had never really registered what he was saying. The venues were always too loud and filled with smoke and teenage groupies. And while she had always admired his voice she hadn't ever really heard what he was saying. But when she had found the lyrics to a song of his she had found them surprisingly heartfelt and sincere. It had surprised her and taken her back a bit.

And when he said those things to her before she left him standing alone on the street she had felt it then. His voice, his hesitation, the timber, made the words sink in. They weren't merely just words. It was an offer, the tee shirt an olive branch, both of which she had rejected for what she had believed to be logical and obvious reasons.

But one thing she had learned from her relationship with both Michael and Ray were that matters of the heart were hardly ever logical.

And there wasn't a logical reason that she could feel that something was wrong. Pratt had mentioned that he was beeped again and was fidgeting with his phone. She grabbed his wrist and stopped him, catching his eyes.

"We need to get there," She paused, "…back to work."

He was surprised at the very least, "Neela, not two hours ago you buried your husband. I think you need to take some _time_ before—"

She cut him off, "What am I accomplishing by sitting here? The world hasn't stopped spinning. Time is still moving forward. _I need_ to move forward."

"But the hospital can wait—"

She cut him off again, "I am grieving, Greg, and I will be for a long while—maybe even forever. And it will be hard; bloody likely the hardest thing that I've ever had to do. But one thing I learned from Michael is that you don't stop going when it gets tough. There is something going on at the hospital and I can still work. People still need help. Maybe by doing that, being there for them and living through this, I can in some way understand how Michael could keep going back to Iraq."

He nodded and they started to drudge back to the waiting limo in silence. As they walked he offered, "Do you have that sick feeling in your stomach too—that something is wrong?"

She wordlessly nodded.

When they entered the ER, it was chaos to say the least. She soon lost Pratt in the shuffle.

"Rasgotra!" Albright shouted, causing her to turn.

"You missed a messy Cesarean," She continued, "But she's in recovery and is stable. The baby is downstairs in the NICQ."

At her confused expression Albright offered, "You came back for an update on Abby, right?"

"Abby had an emergency Cesarean?"

The brunette nodded, "She took a nasty fall. She had complained to staff about a headache and some blurred vision but was trying to keep up with the patients. She ended up suffering from a placental abruption. There was a lot of blood. We found her just in time."

Her pager went off and she left Neela with the weight of the news she had just learned.

Losing Michael had left her numb. And with the chaos still all around her she couldn't help but be thankful for it. But she couldn't go visit Abby. To see her friend was sure to break what resolve she had left. She felt guilty for not being able to visit.

She was sitting in the empty visitor's waiting area. After what had taken place the visitors who had not needed treatment immediately had fled. She was close enough to the admit desk to hear some of what was said. She heard about Luka, Sam, and Jerry. But she heard nothing about Ray.

I don't have a home. I don't have a husband. I don't have anything. All I have is this stupid hospital.

She had been distant with them all, with the exception of Pratt, since she had learned of Michael's death. She felt guilty for not being there when her friends needed her.

He had been the one that stumbled across Abby and then Luka. He had worked on both of his friends and had a tough time trying to detach himself from these cases. So when Luka had been rolled out of the room, Ray had just stood there. He had been frozen in place. His gaze fell to the floor that was a mess with blood and evidence of what had transpired. He pulled his own gloves off and let them fall to the floor. He followed suit with the rest of his blood-covered wardrobe. Then he had gone to the bathroom and emptied the meager contents of his stomach.

When he left the bathroom he had mindlessly walked to the admit desk out of habit. It was there that he glanced towards the waiting room and saw _her_. She was still in the black dress she had worn to her husband's funeral. She looked smaller and paler than he remembered.

She had been distant since their discussion on the roof. She had not returned his phone calls and had chosen to lean on someone else.

He had known that dwelling on the fact that she had not returned his phone calls had been a dumb thing to do. She had just lost her _husband_ and he was being a selfish ass by assuming that answering his messages would be top on her list of priorities.

But it did hurt-especially because she had allowed Pratt to be there for her. She spoke to Pratt about her feelings but not to him. To him, she didn't say a word.

He hadn't meant to push her that day on the roof. His only intention was to see if she was okay, which he knew she wouldn't be. He didn't know how to even approach her. He had never lost someone he loved. And she _did_ love Michael. He had seen it himself, even when he hadn't wanted to.

So he had done what she asked and _stayed the hell away_. And he had decided that very morning—which now seemed like forever ago—to follow Pratt's advice and not leave her any more messages.

But now she was here, just when he needed her.

"Neela?"

She looked up and met his eyes. A wave of relief washed over her. Before she knew it she was out of her seat and had her arms wrapped around him.

He was frozen for a moment but finally settled into the hug. He was exhausted; drained physically and emotionally. His concern for his colleagues and _her _had left him beat.

And they held each other for a long time, each person afraid to let the other go.

It was then that Ray finally let himself take on the weight of everything that had happened. His knees buckled and her felt as though he might fall but Neela held him tighter to her for a moment before they settled themselves down in two empty seats.

"I'm sorry—", they both muttered, simultaneously. The both smiled awkwardly at one another. Ray looked away first.

"You look exhausted, Ray," She paused, waiting until she met his eyes, "lets get you home."


End file.
